


chassant la fée verte

by quaintlullabies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, but it could be twenty in the end, dark Snape, i know about as much as you do, i will regret that part later, if i didn't get this out of my head, it is six o'clock in the morning and i havent gone to bed, it was going to kill me, its gonna get steamy, there will be 'drug' use, this is supposed to be three chapters, this one is a little is a little dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 02:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaintlullabies/pseuds/quaintlullabies
Summary: A chance meeting between Snape and Hermione sparks a conversation that might lead to outside... experimentation.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	chassant la fée verte

_To my friend, CD, who told me she drank her absinthe as a shot while in Scotland. I was absolutely scandalized. I couldn't ask for a better friend, confident, sister, co-writer, or co-conspirator._

_Happy birthday, babe, with all the love in the world._  
_________________________________________________________________________________

The invitation had been sent to her as a result of a conversation they’d had. That much she knew. But the conversation, over a few too many glasses of wine (for her) at a conference they’d both happened to attend, had been, in a word, inappropriate.

It had started innocently enough, the first glass of wine had sparked a conversation about potions - a natural topic of discussion, considering with whom she was speaking. Somehow, between the third and fourth glass, they were talking about alternate ways to to use potions, for good or bad, but mostly in the grey area. 

“Well, certainly, there have to be far less Dark potions being brewed. The war is over - there’s no need for them.”

He’d simply looked at her for a moment before answering.

“I am sure you would be surprised, Miss Granger. You are thinking in terms of the war - and I cannot fault you for that - but man’s nefarious behaviour did not start with the war - our war - humankind, as a whole, have been trying to destroy each other since the beginning of time.”

“Well, that’s a bloody miserable thought,” she said into her wine glass, and Snape chuckled. 

“I am inclined to agree. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters were not responsible for the advent of Dark potions or spells, Miss Granger. Surely you realize that.”

It must have been the alcohol, because she wasn't regularly that thick.

“Of course Professor,” she’d said.

“I have not been your Professor in almost a decade, Miss Granger.” Had it really been that long?

“Master Snape, then,” she said, placing her glass down on the table; he inclined his head in acknowledgement. He reached for the bottle and filled her glass again. 

“Do you know a lot of Dark potions?” she’d asked, wondering, in that very moment, why she’d blurted out the question. She knew the answer. Some of them had come to light during the trials.

“You know I do Miss Granger,” he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the noise around them. “And before you ask - more than I could count, in various degrees of violence and destruction.” 

He stepped leaned in a little closer - close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “I assume you do not need to ask about my knowledge of Dark spells, Miss Granger?”

She could do little more than shake her head. She’d never been that close before. She’d never noticed how dark his eyes were. She’d never noticed anything about him, really. 

She didn’t know why her mouth was blurting out questions that she hadn’t given it permission to ask, but her next question was probably what sealed her fate. Or, at least, what sparked her invitation.

“I know that any potion can be used for Dark purposes, but are there any Dark potions that could be used for good?” 

He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and then curled his finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. 

She thought, perhaps, that he was going to kiss her. And in that moment, she wasn’t entirely sure what her reaction would be but it was definitely leaning in the ‘kiss back’ direction. 

When he spoke again, his voice ran over and through her, like a slow drizzle of the darkest chocolate.

“It depends, Miss Granger, on what you consider to be Dark, and what you consider to be Light. For example, there is a potion that would make your skin so susceptible to touch, that anything you happened to brush against - your clothes or, say, this table, or…”

His hand slid down her throat to rest there, his index and middle fingers resting on the pulse point just below her jaw. “...someone else’s skin… could send such pleasure throughout your body, reducing you to nothing more than a vessel of need and want, that you would do anything to quench that fire before you went mad.”

He dropped his hand from her throat, letting it rest in his lap, though he did not back away.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she managed in a whisper.

“I would agree, Miss Granger. Imagine… a willing witch writhing on your sheets, beneath your body, begging for your touch… begging for that release… imagine the power.”

He’d crafted quite an image in her mind. She was imagining without his prompting.

“But what if one used that power to control another person? So, perhaps, you use the promise of that quenching to have said witch do your bidding. What if using that power as a reward could make a witch make promises and do things that she would not dare without the seduction of that potion running through her veins?”

Hermione let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“What if it could turn a witch into a slave for this wizard? Bound to his will, his every demand, waiting for the next moment he granted her the … pleasure she so wanted?”

Hermione’s voice caught in her throat before she was able to speak again, and still it was such a quiet whisper, that she wondered how he’d heard it. 

“That doesn’t sound terrible, either.”

If it were possible, his eyes darkened a shade.

“Again, Miss Granger, I would agree,” he responded, his eyes taking a leisurely path from the top of her head, covered in chestnut ringlets, to her parted lips, down to her throat, and back again in a full circuit. 

“A beautiful witch obeying your every command, wanting to please that wizard, aching and longing for every touch, begging to do whatever he asked just to feel his body against hers...it is a heady thought, is it not?”

Hermione was fairly sure she’d stopped breathing.

“But what if it were not consensual for both parties? What if the witch was told her reward would only be given if she … killed another person? Certainly that cannot be considered good, despite the intention of the potion’s creator. All potions are Light and Dark, therefore no potions are Light or Dark. Like all things, Miss Granger, intent is what determines the consequence, not the potion.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, as he stood. Had he always been that tall? “Despite this delightful conversation, I am sorry to say that our time must come to an end. There are things I must attend to.” He offered his hand to help her stand, and she blinded at it owlishly before placing her hand in his and rising. 

“Until next time, Miss Granger,” he said, and all Hermione could do was nod and watch him leave. 

She couldn’t have told you anything else about that night - what she did immediately after, how she got home - none of it - but that conversation had played back over and over in her mind so many times, that it was almost as good as a Pensive-saved memory.

Which brought her to her new complication: the invitation.


End file.
